Never Again or why Sherlock always drives
by grannysknitting
Summary: a slight spoiler for ep2 season 2. Also, not angst - is that allowed? Also, crack!fic. Also a birthday pressie for Scopes. The title is the summary


Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.

AN = birthday fic for Scopes!

Spoilers – concept inspired by episode 2 of season 2 (I got to wondering why Sherlock was driving in that episode and not John. Then my mind wandered off into scary places.) Set before episode 2 of season 2. Also, crack!fic.

**Never Again – or why Sherlock drives**

"They're getting away!" John huffed, watching as the thieves piled into their sports car – and really, something had to be said for a life of crime because wasn't it always a sports car and the latest kit? And what did he have? Shared space with an erratic genius with little to no concept of personal space, let alone personal belongings. John was lucky to have access to his own laptop three days out of seven and there were times it was lucky he didn't have access to his own handgun…

"John!" Sherlock's impatient voice cut through his frustrated internal rant and John turned to see what his genius wanted now while he internally racked up a list of things that the criminals had and he didn't. To be fair the sports car was stolen too, but still…

Sherlock was standing proudly next to the latest Mini Cooper. It was a display model, which meant alloy wheels, custom paint job, leather seats, state of the art sound system etc. It was the paint job that put John momentarily off his stride – classic dark blue with the white roof and the Union flag painted on it.

John grinned and strode towards the car. Sherlock was waving the key, but was on the passenger side, and this car came with a proximity key – which meant that John was driving. He liked to drive – he found it quite… theraputic.

"Hurry up!" he shouted from inside the car at his pouting partner, "They're getting away!"

Sherlock slid into the car and John hit the ignition, the car purring to life under his hands as Sherlock attempted to get his seatbelt on. John had done that the moment he got in and so, trusting Sherlock's ability to multitask when the situation called for it, he gunned the engine and burned out of the lot after the thieves.

Sherlock's squeak of shock was almost inaudible over the chorus of car horns that accompanied their entry into traffic.

"Sherlock, where are they heading?" John snapped, shifting through gears seamlessly and appreciating the acceleration. For a small car it packed some wallop.

"They'll be heading back towards the East End Docks," Sherlock replied, finally managing to do up his seatbelt and grabbing the door handle. John engaged the internal locks just in case, swerving in a long zigzag through three lanes of traffic and bursting onto a roundabout.

More horns, as well as several nervous drivers who overcompensated for their brakes. The cars GPS turned itself on and automatically oriented itself to show the road they flying along. John knew that there was a quicker way to get directions and a more reliable source so he didn't pay it too much attention.

"Honestly, where do people learn to drive nowadays?" John shook his head, partially mounting the gutter to pass a lorry on the inside, "Shortcuts, Sherlock! I don't have the A to Z memorised!"

"Next right!" Sherlock bleated and John accelerated again, wanting to hit the green light before it changed. He swung the wheel tightly, declutching and down shifting as the mini coasted through a ninety degree turn – mostly on all four wheels.

"Nice power steering," John commented, ignoring the fusillade of horns that little trick garnered, "You know, I came out number one in the offensive driving course in the Army."

"You don't say," Sherlock sounded a little shaken as John cut through the driveway of a service station to get past some stalled traffic. He swung onto the wrong side of the road to avoid some pedestrians that thought the little green man meant go and then swung back again.

"Er, John, we need to get there…"

"I know; that's why I'm asking for shortcuts. What if we take the lane we used for the shortcut to Angelo's that time? You know, after we'd chased down that forger and his fake tea sets. It's just up ahead," John offered.

"It would be quicker," Sherlock began and John took that as a yes, hitting his own horn for the first time and entering the bus lane, much to the horror of the bus behind him. He hit the brakes, swung the wheel sharply and mounted the median strip, zooming across oncoming traffic and plunging into the afore mentioned alley with only seconds to spare.

"I need more notice, Sherlock," John ignored the heavy breathing coming from the passenger seat, "In case you haven't noticed, we're going pretty fast."

The alley was almost too narrow for the mini, so John had to pay close attention to avoid scraping it on the brick walls that were whizzing past. He really did enjoy driving, though it was far too expensive to maintain a car in London that was rarely used. He'd toyed with the idea of suggesting that he and Sherlock go halves, but had decided not to on the grounds that he'd end up being the chauffer in the partnership, not to mention the hassle and expense of parking in London. Taxis were more convenient in that way.

"Right at the end of the alley," Sherlock instructed, though he had to swallow loudly at the end of the sentence.

"Don't get car sick in here mate; I will not be cleaning that up, understood?" John instructed, pumped the brakes and jumped them over the footpath and into the traffic, avoiding a Lexus and BMW with absentminded skill. The chorus of car horns started up again, an annoying bleat of alarm that John swiftly outpaced.

"Erm," Sherlock muttered, "I think we need to cut further to the right."

"There are no alleys or cross roads," John replied, glancing at the GPS for the first time, "Never mind!"

He'd almost passed it – an open air market with quite wide aisles. Slamming on the brakes again – John noted the responsiveness of the car with approval – he brought them to a shuddering halt. Not bothering to try and turn the car, which would waste valuable time, John slammed it into reverse, twisted slightly in his seat and began backing through the market, one hand jammed over the horn firmly.

"Good thing I engaged the internal locks, you'd have opened the door when I stopped," John noted, swerving around a belligerent pensioner on a mobility scooter, "You might want to change your grip to a different handle. I'd hate to have to explain to Mycroft that you accidently opened the door and fell out."

"Concentrate!" Sherlock bleated as John slalomed through the foot traffic with insolent ease. John tutted at him for his manners, an almost automatic response nowadays when Sherlock was in a mood. The end of the market was in sight, now and John eased off on the accelerator a little.

"Reverse at 50 miles an hour, not too shabby!" he glanced at the speedometer and then at Sherlock, "Which way?"

"Left!" Sherlock yelped and John spun the wheel to the right, tuned to face forward and roared off into traffic once again. There was a resounding crash as a cyclist hit a traffic bollard and John tutted – how the skinny bloke in ill fitting Lycra had overlooked the thing was beyond him. You'd think people would pay better attention.

Three minutes later the thieves' car roared out of a side road just in front of them.

"Ah ha!" John grinned and sped up. Sherlock made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper but John didn't bother to glance over at him, too busy plotting vectors and angles. When he was satisfied with his manoeuvre, he cut into the oncoming traffic for a moment, creating a chain reaction where the cars in front of them swerved – some quite wildly – and slowed the thieves down, then crossed back into his lane, up onto the footpath, finally cutting between two parked cars to block the thieves off.

He was out in a flash and over to the still juddering sports car, reaching through the open drivers' window and hauling thief number one out – the idiot wasn't even wearing a seatbelt – through said open window. He left him dangling half in and half out, slithering back over the bonnet to trap theif number two between the door and the body of the car.

He could hear Sherlock calling Lestrade in the background and used the cuffs his flatmate had taken to requiring he carry to secure his prisoner to the door of the car before catching the driver as he fell the rest of the way out of the window and dragging him around to his confederate.

Cuffed together through the door of their stolen car, neither man were going anywhere, which left John free to see to Sherlock, who was a bit pale. John had never noticed a propensity for travel sickness in his friend before, but there was a first time for everything, right?

END

Clueless John is clueless.


End file.
